Broil the tomatillos about four inches from the heat source until they are really soft and starting to brown a bit in spots.

Wash off the chilaca and serrano chiles, remove the stems and seeds. The serrano seeds have a lot of capsaicin, so if you want the shitte hotter, you can leave in some or all of the serrano seeds.

Put the tomatillos, chiles, and six hugeasse garlic cloves in a blender.

Blend the fucke out of itte.

Deboned (boned?) chicken thighs.

Salt and pepper the thighs, and brown them in hot vegetable oil, starting with the skin side.

You want them at least this golden brown, rendering out a lot of the skin fat.

Discard all the oil and rendered fat from the pot, and then deglaze with one cup of dry white wine.

Add the tomatillo chile puree and three cups of chicken broth, and bring to a boil.

Add the chicken and bring back to a boil.

Braise the shitte in a 350 degree oven for an hour to an hour an one half, until the chicken is reall fucken tender and just starting to break down.

Done!

Take out the chicken and shread itte.

Add the cilantro and reduce until the sauce is nice and thick.

Turn off the heat and add back in the chicken, mixing very well. Ideally, one makes the chicken chile verde the day before making the tamales, and allows the chicken to absorb the liquid overnight in the refrigerator.

Make the tamales in the usual way. We made the “masa” tamale dough by mixing three cups of masa harina, three cups of chicken broth, one and a half teaspoons salt and three quarters teaspoon baking powder, and then beating in three quarters cup of manteca (lard). Adjust the consistency by adding water or masa harina so that it is basicaly like spackle (h/t Isis the Scientist for the “spackle” analogy).

Soak the corn husks in hot water for at least several hours, so that they are saturated and nice and pliable. Spread about three tablespoons of masa onto the corn husk, plop in about one or one and a half tablespoons of chile verde, and then wrap the fucker uppe.

Steam the motherfuckers until the tamales are cooked, with the dough set into a nice corny tamale. This will take at least one hour, and could take as long as one and a half to two hours, depending on how tightly packed the tamales are in the steamer. While the shitte was steaming, I made what was supposed to be a side dish, but ended up as an appetizer!

As I read more of the commentary at Pharyngula on the gendered bunny situation, I am starting to realize what is going on there. It appears that you have a large number of d00ds who claim to be “skeptics” who are making all sorts of claims about sexism, misogyny, and women’s oppression–and even claim to be feminists–who don’t know jack diddly fucke about even the most basic aspects of feminist theory.

The reason I even bothered to respond again was to make a larger point. I am a feminist. It does not matter if the people on this board believe it, because it happens to be true. I’m on your side. No, I’m not a woman. No, I will never know what it’s like to be a woman. But, sometimes, people inside a group can learn things from the observations and opinions of someone outside the group. Sometimes, when a group has been oppressed for so long and suffered so much discrimination they see enemies where there are none.

That he thinks any of this has to do with searching for “enemies” indcates very clearly that his claims to be a feminist are empty. Achieve a basic understanding of feminist theory, and he will discover that feminism has nothing to do with dividing the world into individuals who are sexist–and thus “enemies” to be attacked because they are the cause of women’s oppression–and individuals who are non-sexist–and thus “friends” who are immune from criticism because nothing they do causes women’s oppression.

That’s my point. Agree with it, don’t. It’s up to you. But if you judge me differently for my opinion because I’m a man and a feminist instead of a woman and a feminist, then perhaps you should examine your own gender bias, just as I try to examine my own.

Yeah, itte’s those damn bitchez who are the real sexists! RESPECT MAH FEMINIZMS!@!!11!!!

The dissonance between Pharynguloid assertions to “revere women”, to be “on women’s side”, to be “feminists”, etc, and the reality of their overwhelming ignorance of the basics of feminist theory is remarkable. You’d think skeptics would want to learn what feminism is before they go spouting off about it. If supposed skeptic d00ds like this really gave a fucken shitte about feminism–and didn’t just want to use it as a platform for ignorant mansplaining–they’d go do their fucken homework first.

There is a very intense discussion going on at Pharyngula right now concerning the reactions to a pro-atheist cartoon that depicted a dialogue between a religious bunny and an atheist bunny in which the atheist bunny is smart and rational and the religious bunny is stupid and irrational. Pretty early in the comment thread discussing the cartoon itself, someone pointed out that it was unfortunate that the cartoon propagates a misogynist trope by having the silly religious bunny be wearing feminine attire and use pink dialogue bubbles, while the rational atheist bunny is wearing masculine attire and uses blue dialogue bubbles.

A shitstorm then ensued, initiated and powered by a bunch of d00ds (1) flat-out denying that the cartoon could be propagating misogynist tropes, (2) flat-out asserting that all that matters is the intent of the author, and (3) flat-out asserting that even if the cartoon might be propagating misogynist tropes, it isn’t important and bitchez should STFU. Each of these things is, of course, totally false.

Unfortunately, PZ decided that the significance of this shitstorm is that “sometimes a bunny is just a bunny” and not that d00ds are constantly belittling the misogyny that permeates every single aspect of our patriarchal society and telling bitchez to STFU. As a skeptic, PZ ought to scrutinize his own reaction to the “tempest”, unpack the influence of patriarchy and misogyny on that reaction, and apologize for getting this so wrong.

As the economy limps along and more attention is paid to the so-called 1 percent, some of the richest New Yorkers have taken to driving around in vehicles that ooze neither wealth nor privilege. But on the inside, the vans may be as lavishly decorated as the private railroad cars owned by turn-of-the-century industrialists.

* * *

Nonetheless, during morning spin classes at Soul Cycle, the Upper East Side studio, the parking spaces cannot accommodate the Sprinter vans, Range Rovers and Lexus GX470s that are sometimes double-parked. A modified black Mercedes van owned by Philip A. Falcone, the chief of Harbinger Capital Partners, has become a fixture on the Upper East Side, idling by the Michael Kors shop on Madison Avenue.

Jill Kargman, a writer and mother of three who lives on the Upper East Side, said that play dates adhered to a certain pecking order: those that start in one of these ultra-luxury vans are preferable because they can “just bop into a souped-up bulletproof living room on wheels,” she said.

* * *

Hyde Ryan, a designer who worked with a wealthy New York family on decorating the interior of their Mercedes Sprinter van, said that the family wanted gold-plated fittings for every button that would be pushed. The owner installed a vacuum cleaner so the chauffeur could remove every crumb and grain of sand each time the children stepped out of the van.

Here is what Google Reader looks like on my machine with the script turned off:

Here is what it looks like with the script on:

In addition to various checkboxes and numerical entry fields for adjusting specified parameters of how Reader is displayed, you can also type in CSS in to a text box that will be applied to the shitte. And if you don’t know jacke motherfucken dicke about CSS, you can post questions on the script discussion forum, and the script author, Dustin Luck, will help you figure out the CSS you need to adjust shitte to your liking.

four-to-five pound pork butt
three large dried ancho chiles
one large dried chipotle chile
three large dried arbol chiles
one large onion, chopped
six large cloves garlic, chopped
juice of half a large lime
juice of half a large tangerine
one tablespoon sugar
kosher salt or sel gris
olive oil
two bay leaves
two tsp dried oregano
two tsp ground coriander
two tsp ground cumin
one twelve-ounce bottle Modelo Negra beer

Remove the stems and seeds from all the chiles, boil some water, turn off the heat, submerge the chiles in the water, cover, and allow to steep for a half hour, with occasional gentle stirring.

Remove the reconstituted chiles from the water, and reserve the chile water.

Place the chiles, a half cup of chile water, the sugar, and citrus juice in a blender and blend the fucke out of the shitte, adding some more chile water as necessary to blend into a smooth paste/puree.

Liberally salt the butt, and coat it well with the chile paste.

When the onions and garlic are nicely softened and just starting to caramelize, pour in the beer and bring to a boil.

Put the butt into the pot, add the remaining chile paste if any is left, baste the butt with the beery oniony broth, cover, and braise in a 350 degree bottom-heat oven for three to four hours, until the pork is fork tender all the way through. Every thirty minutes, baste the butt with the braising liquid to keep it moist, and turn it over every hour.

When it’s done, remove the butt from the braising liquid, cover it with aluminum foil, and allow it to rest while you finish making the squid rice. By the time the pork is finished, there will be almost no aqueous phase left in the braising pan, and there will mostly just be rendered pork fat and the chiles, onion, and garlic as a kind of paste. If you want, this paste can be removed from the pork fat and used as the base for a sauce, for example by mixing it with some white wine and chicken broth and reducing a bit. I didn’t bother with this.

Fucke facebooke. Why any grown adult would allow this coporation free access to the deepest most intimate details of her life, and to sell that access to other corporations, is beyond me. I’d sooner hammer a thousand nails through my dicke, pour a million gallons of gasoline on it, and light the motherfucker on fire than putz around with facebooke.